Sammy heads back toward the ring, and we get a shot of the beaten-down Bellick positively drooling thick streamers of blood. The crowd begins cheering in anticipation of the kill, but the shouts disappear into bafflement as Sammy keeps on walking through the circle and up to Lechero, who is lounging against a pillar. Sammy says, "You're hiding Scofield up in your room?" Lechero issues the non-denial, "Look at you: the power make you mad already." Well, it's made him angry, anyway: Sammy hauls off and lifts Lechero off his feet, snarling, "Come along, Norman. Let's go."
Meanwhile, on the outside ... Sucre is waiting for Susan B. When she pulls up, he hops in. She grits, "What is so urgent?" Sucre spins a feeble story about Lincoln buying a gun and Susan B. closes her eyes all, Lord, give me the serenity to accept the morons who lie to me, the strength to decapitate the people who really piss me off, and the wisdom to know the difference. And then she blows his comfortable little delusion about how he and Linc really pulled one over on her: "A cynic might think [their tiff] was staged. I'm a cynic, sugar." Sucre ripostes, "You're high, sugar." Susan B. says cheerfully, "If it's any comfort, you guys almost pulled it off -- the Puerto Rican and the gorilla...you really had me scrambling there for a minute." Sucre tries to maintain his bluff, but Susan abruptly calls it by pointing out that there was a tracing number on that cashier's check, and since Sucre wired all $25K to Maricruz Delgado of "123 Please Don't Hurt Me Lane"...Sucre blusters, "If something happens to her --" "IF WHAT? WHAT, JACKASS?" Susan B. inquires, all crazy eyes and top volume on the shouting. I have to hand it to Jodi Lyn O'Keefe, she does a great losing-her-marbles crazy. Sucre is visibly frightened. He accepts Susan B.'s edict that he's to bring her some real information, or else Maricruz will lose her head. He also manages to keep enough of his wits about him to slide the bomb under the seat while her eyes are still rolling around wildly.